


A Baby in a Basket

by Emily (JustAround)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Baby Abandonment, Dimension Travel, Let's start at the very beginning, Not Beta Read, What if Vernon found Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-09 16:27:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7808908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAround/pseuds/Emily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Vernon Dursley was the one to find baby Harry on his doorstep?  Things would have been very different in the young life of Harry Potter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the the March Challenge at http://31daysoffandom.livejournal.com. I've seen this concept a few times, but decided to put a Buffy twist on it. Not beta-ed.

On an ordinary night Vernon Dursley would be happily sleeping in his bed.  Staying out late was for criminals and vagabounds, as no reasonable person would have business to attend in the hours before sunrise.  
  
This was no ordinary evening.  
  
The night had started off as well as could be expected, considering the odd events of the day.  Owls and individuals dressed in ridiculous robes, the whisper of a name similar to that of his unmentionable nephew.  Still, dinner had gone well and he should have fallen asleep easily.  Only something had kept him from falling into a deep sleep, kept him tossing and turning.  Perhaps there was a slight sour tinge to the night air.  Perhaps the crisp winter air was arriving sooner than anticipated.  Whatever the reason, Vernon had slept on and off intermittently during the night.  
  
He finally gave up on real sleep in the wee hours of the morning, long before the sun was set to rise.  An early morning snack would help, he told himself, as he stumbled down the stairs and towards the kitchen.  A faint noise from outside the front door caught his attention, his eyes narrowing as he lumbered towards the entranceway.  If it was those hoodlums from down the street fussing in the front garden again…well.  They would get a talking to.  
  
Yanking open the front door, Vernon looked around suspiciously.  
  
Only leaves being blown by the night breeze moved in the darkness.  
  
Satisfied there was no one there, he began to back into the house, intent on closing the door.  A soft rustling from his feet caught his attention and he glanced down, eyes widening as large as saucers as he spotted the basket in front of the door, a baby nestled gently within.    
  
_What type of person leaves a baby at a door?_ He sputtered to himself.  _Nobody normal, that’s who._  
  
Moments passed as he stared down at the child, indecision in every line of his body.  He could just close the door, go back to bed, and forget about the basket until the morning.  Yet if he took that course of action, he would still have to deal with the unknown child when Petunia opened the door for the milkman.  Perhaps someone had just left the child on the wrong doorstep.  After all, no one they knew would do something as strange, as _weird…_  
  
The strange events of the day came back to him.  His mouth tightened into a thin line as he reached down and carefully took a letter out of the basket, stilling as the baby stirred slightly at the movement.  He froze in place, back bent absurdly as he dared not move until the child was asleep once again.  Wanting to mutter under his breath about the inconvenience of the matter, the rudeness of whoever placed this baby here, Vernon held back the instinct in his desire to not wake the baby.  His back cracked as he straightened once again, adding one more annoyance with the situation.  Unfolding the letter, Vernon read through the first lines, his face turning white in fear.  
  
Those _weirdos_ went and got themselves killed and now this Albus Dumbledore person expected Vernon and Petunia to just take in the child?  A child of unnaturals being allowed into _his_ home?  
  
Well.  That would never do.  Vernon shuffled backwards, his feet almost sliding out from under him in his haste to back away from the baby.  The tight grip of his hand wrinkled the letter, the indecision of what to do vanishing.  Without another glance at the basket, he hurried over to the kitchen and pulled out a pair of scissors, snipping off Petunia’s name at the top of the letter.  Best to nip this thing in the bud.  Take care of it before Petunia woke up.  
  
A short time later, Vernon found himself in his car, the basket with the baby stuffed in the back of the vehicle.  His hands clenched tightly around the wheel as he looked back every now and then, muttering under his breath at having to be out driving in the middle of the night, at having a baby left on his doorstep, of those wizarding unnaturals daring to disturb his life.  He would show them.  He would find some place to leave the baby, a place nobody would connect to his family.  He knew the perfect spot; a shop he passed everyday while driving home from work, glaring at the fact it dared to exist.  
  
Few cars were on the road, leaving even less to pass his vehicle.  As he neared his destination, he slowed the vehicle and pulled off the main road, into an alley between buildings.  A back door to the nearby bookstore opened into the alley, and a smile crossed his face as he realized this would be the perfect spot to leave the nuisance.  The bookstore and coffee shop advertised books about supernatural beings, nonsense fantasy stories, and other non-normal topics.  The crystals dangling in the front window just confirmed his idea; weirdos obviously ran the store.  
  
Let like deal with like.  
  
Making as little noise as possible, he eased the car door open and reached into the backseat to grab the basket.  It took two tries to get it out of the car, and two bruises on the top of his head to show for his attempts.  His face was red with irritation and exertion by the time Vernon finally maneuvered the baby out.  With as little movement as possible, as a baby crying would spoil all of his plans, he carefully shoved the basket into the entranceway of the door, making sure no one would see it if they looked down the alley.  Shuffling away, he nodded in satisfaction as the nook in front of the door was large enough for the basket to be almost invisible to anyone passing by.  
  
Vernon hurriedly got back into his vehicle and drove away, not sparing a second glance for his abandoned nephew.  
  
*****  
  
Humming tunelessly to herself, pausing only to take a sip of her coffee, Dawn Summers glanced at the clock above the register.  It was still a little early for the shop to open that morning, giving her the luxury of enjoying her first cup of coffee.  Normally, she was in such a rush to get everything ready for the morning crowd - while the English loved tea, there were more than enough to understood the joy of coffee - she did not get to enjoy her own cup of joe.    
  
She did still enjoy the simple pleasures of life.  
  
Dawn slowly made her way over behind the register and began the opening process.  A note left on the counter caught her attention; according to Buffy, one of their suppliers would be stopping by with some new books later that day.  Which meant the door leading into the alley needed to be unlocked.  With as much time as she had that morning, Dawn decided to do that first before the rest of the opening process.  If she forgot about it and got busy, the delivery man would be quite annoyed if he found himself arriving to a locked door.  
  
She put her cup of coffee on the counter and sauntered over to the door, swiping the keys from their hook as she did.  The door was notoriously finicky, and it took a couple of tries for Dawn to get it unlocked.  She opened the door, to make sure it didn’t stick like the last time…  
  
And found a baby in a basket at her feet.  
  
She blinked and looked back into the shop.  Looking back down, she blinked again.  Yep.  Still there.  Baby in a basket wasn’t a figment of her imagination.  
  
The nip of the morning air sent a small shiver down her spine.  Biting her lip, she reached down and hefted the basket up, surprised the baby didn’t wake with all the jostling.  Stepping back into the bookstore, she closed the door behind her and stared down at the basket again.  As quickly as she could manage, she walked through the bookstore and up the stairs that led to their living suite.    
  
Pushing the door to Buffy’s room open, she asked, “Are stork-delivered babies a thing in this dimension?  Did we know this?”


	2. Chapter 2

_December, 1972_

_The wind blowing across the Sound was bitter this time of year, sending a chill breeze through the small church. The unseasonably cold weather bothered Reginald more than it did the locals. They merely brushed it away as more bad luck for the small town, as the colder weather would make the winter that much more difficult, especially with fewer and fewer trains running through._

_But then, the other denizens of the town were just Muggles, unaware of the growing threat that loomed just beyond their knowledge._

_Pulling the thick sweater tighter around his body, he stared at the images in the stained glass windows, wishing not for the first time that he could truly have the type of faith the Muggles had in a higher being to protect them. He yearned for that type of faith, wanting anything to give him a reprieve from his fears about the rising Dark magic he had no way to defend himself. Knowing his own family would kill him without hesitation had driven him to this small town, using only his wits and a few small spells from close magical friends._

_Thus was the life of a squib of a pure-blood, Muggle hating family._

_Yet, he truly tried to awaken that faith. He prayed diligently during the daily masses, listened to the words of the priest when he spoke, volunteered anytime he could to try to fit in with the welcoming community. A community that did not need to welcome an outsider like himself, but had. The pastor had taken pity on him and had offered him a place to stay in a small cottage near the church. In return, Reginald had offered his help in tending to the garden during the summer, and keeping the church clean and warm during the winter. Those were easy tasks compared to what he had endured during his childhood._

_Still, even with the place to stay and the type of community and welcome he never had before, the feeling of uneasiness never left. He knew the dark arts were growing in strength daily, from the sparse communications he still had from friends in the magical community. Their owls spoke of troubling events, mysterious disappearances, and the ever growing threat of Lord Voldemort. While his very existence was a secret in itself - his family believing him dead - he knew that meant very little if his friends were to lose their expanding war._

_All non-magic beings were in danger they knew not._

_Sighing to himself, Reginald attempted to clear his mind as he began closing up the church for the evening. Without magic, there was nothing he could do in this war. Best take care of the friends he had made in the Muggle world, and worry about the magical war at a later time._

_He was taking his last glance of the small space when suddenly, out of the darkness, a glowing green sphere appeared in the aisle of the church. His heart stuttered at the light - only magic could cause something like that - but did not panic outright. The last parting gift from his old wizard friends were wards set around the town and the church especially, designed to warn him when Dark magic was afoot._

_Those wards were silent now._

_With patience he was not aware he had, Reginald watched carefully as the green sphere began to pulse and expel sparks of green light. As those sparks neared him, he did not shied away, and instead put out a hand for the sparks to land. As they hit his skin, a feeling of peace overtook him and he watched in awe as the green sphere exploded in a shower of light. The light pulsed brighter and brighter and yet he could not force himself to look away; instead, he stared as the light began swirling violently in the aisle, slowly coalescing to form two beings._

_Two female humans._

_He could see as they came into being, one moment nothing but green light, and the next two female beings. Their forms became more distinct, and the light grew ever brighter, until he finally had to look away from the bright green that threatened to blind him. He raised a hand, shielding his face from the bright light, even as he wanted to gaze into it, find out what was causing the magical, but peaceful, disturbance. From his studies into a magic he could never use, this type of thing was not usual in the magical community. He needed to find out what was causing it._

_Without warning, the light disappeared. Reginald opened his eyes…_

_And quickly averted them, face going red. His first look at the newly appeared beings was that of a blonde woman leaning over a naked, younger female. Even as he kept his gaze away from the pair, he heard the younger one (he assumed) mutter, “Just once, I’d like to enter a new dimension with clothes. How is that too much to ask.”_

_“So magic up clothes next time,” the other said dryly, and he could near the rummaging of cloth, “I figured you’d figure out how by now. You sure complain enough for it.”_

_He could not near the muttered response, though he assumed it was not a polite one. Still, he cared less about the response and more about the casual discussion of magic, a magic that was very unlike the type he knew. Coupled that with the mention of other dimensions and Reginald was almost desperate to find out who they were. And where they were from. And part of him desperately wanted to know if their magic was something he could learn._

_“Um, hello?” he called out meekly, still averting his gaze from the women. “I couldn’t help but overhear…”_

_“I’m dressed now,” the first voice interrupted, amusement tinging her words. “You don’t have to keep looking away. Though I appreciate the gesture. That doesn’t always happen when we land.”_

_The open tone of voice, laced without any pity, was what caused him to fully look at the two. They were younger than he originally expected - the now clothed brunette still young enough to be in secondary school, the blonde only a few years older. Still, there was something about them that made them seem older. The way they stood, their confidence in themselves that was nothing like the false self-assuredness most people had in their young lives. For all their looks made them seem young, the experience in their eyes contradicted their age._

_It was almost enough to give him the faith he’d been yearning for these past years._

_“Yes, well, there are many people willing to take advantage when they believe they can,” he said frankly, keeping his eyes on them. “Though those who try to take advantage after that type of entrance are most obviously fools.”_

_The two young women exchanged glances before the talkative one turned back and favored him with a wide smile. “You remind me of Giles. This dimension already has a vote in its favor. Also, the lack of shock is a big plus. You get these type of magic acts often?”_

_His good humor evaporated with the mention of magic. How to explain to these otherly dimension beings, as he already thought of them, the dangerous magical war that was simmering behind a seemingly normal world? That, while he had the knowledge of the magic, his inability to perform a simple charm would provide no use to them if they were looking for a powerful ally? That the magical world might fear them and attempt to destroy them because they were of an unknown origin?_

_“I’m guessing Dawn’s question was a little bit of a loaded one that needs a little more time to answer,” the blonde guessed correctly, focusing her gaze on Reginald. “Why don’t we start over. I’m Buffy. That’s Dawn. The wards you have set up here called to her magic, I guess you could say. We can explain, but first, do you have anything to eat?”_

*******

November, 1981

Using her abilities as the Key to dimension hop gave Dawn a sensitivity to magic. It took awhile for her to notice the significance of their dimensional travels, since their path seemed arbitrary at first. A drop of her blood, done in a very specific pattern with a very specific chant, opened the doorway to their next dimension. 

Their next attempt to find a cure for Buffy’s immortality.

Dawn lost count of how many dimensions they traveled, each with just magic to allow them a false sense of hope. But with each new stop, Dawn became more aware of the latent magic of their new worlds. Each new one seemed to be stronger than the last, and this particular dimension gave Dawn the first real hope she had in a long time. She would say years, decades, but really, she was honestly unsure of how much time had actually passed. Buffy no longer aged and she could change her age using her abilities. The Key was infinite, its origins still mostly a mystery of the worlds they traveled. The mortal shell of Dawn Summers could be killed, yes, but until then, she chose her age. She was as ageless as her sister, though she could at least change her look over the course of years to mimic the effect of aging.

She was never going to be magical like Willow, her ability to do actual spells still rather rudimentary considering the amount of exposure she had, but she could sense magic more than ever, especially here.

And as she looked at the child that had been left on their stoop - seriously, how was that even a thing - the red scar on his forehead chilled her to the bone. Dark magics were used around this child, leaving the angry red physical scar as well as a scar on his soul.

That last one may have just been a theory still, but Dawn was pretty convinced.

Dark magic that strong, strong enough to leave such a deep physical scar, would no doubt have left other traces on the boy’s soul.

Which is why Buffy and Dawn found themselves trudging down an old familiar path, one they visited frequently, one that was one of the few places they thought of as home with their vagabound lifestyle. The small church at the end of the path was old, even for two ageless travelers, the white-washed stones that formed the outer protection of the building worn smooth by erosion over time. A light dusting of snow covered the roof of the church. Coupled with a slight breeze, the snow gave the edifice a feeling of tranquility, of peace.

Dawn yearned for that peace right now as she adjusted the bundled child in his carrier. The boy was surprisingly heavy for his size, though part of that was because of Dawn’s inexperience dealing with young children. Staring down at him again, a shiver went down her spine at the red mark on his forehead, as if the Dark Magic that created it was reaching out to grab her. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, Dawn instead tuned into what Buffy was saying.

“I still don’t like this,” Buffy said as they neared the wooden door, pausing slightly with her hand above the knob. “Maybe we should have waited a little bit, to see if someone was coming to pick him up.”

“Yes, because people often leave their children on random doorsteps when they’re going to come back to pick them up,” Dawn said with a roll of her eyes. “And you mentioned not liking this. Maybe once. Or twice. Or the whole ride here.”

Giving her sister a glare that could peel paint, Buffy refrained from responding and instead opened the heavy door of the church. Their footsteps echoed on the stone floor. The few rows of wooden pews on either side of them were empty, which was expected considering the time of day. Dawn was thankful for the emptiness, since her suspicions of Dark Magic would be difficult to explain to any of the ordinary congregation. She glanced around the room, a smile curving onto her face as Reginald stepped from the office into the main part of the church.

“Dawn! Buffy!” he exclaimed, the smile on his face erasing the weariness he often carried. “How lovely to see you!”

He paused as he focused on the small child Dawn carried, his brow wrinkling in confusion. “I don’t recall you mentioning…”

The sentence trailed off awkwardly as he groped for a way to acknowledge the unfamiliar child. Dawn blinked uncomprehendingly at first at his loss of words, though understanding suddenly hit like a lightning strike. With the size of the child, as well as the shock of dark hair, the young baby could be mistaken for hers. If she could have children, that is, and with her being the Key…well, that was best not to dwell on those things right now. Instead, she hit her palm to her forehead. “Duh. Sorry. He isn’t mine. Or Buffy’s. About a week ago, we opened the store to find a baby on our outside stoop. We could have taken him to child services but something wasn’t right about the situation.”

Her explanation, while putting him slightly at ease, did nothing to clear up the confusion that was palpable in the room. Buffy sighed as she pulled Dawn towards one of the pews and forced her to sit down. Reginald followed suit. “What Dawn is failing to explain is that she feels the presence of magic on the baby. Dark magic, specially located near a scar on his forehead.”

“That explains the unexpected visit,” he said, the wrinkling on his forehead disappearing at the explanation, though he hesitated as he said, “Though I’m not sure what help I can provide. While there are signs that the War may be over - celebrations have spilled into the Muggle world - I have not yet received word from my wizarding friends. If He-Who-Shall-Not - ”

“Voldemort,” Buffy said, ignoring his wince at the name.

“If he is defeated,” Reginald continued as if he had not been interrupted, “It may take a few more days for word to come. Other than the wards, there are purposefully no magical connections here. The less connection, the safer my life here is.”

Both of them understood his reasonings, though neither woman liked it. Both had a rather dismal view of the magical world that had pretty much rejected one of their true friends in this dimension; even his full explanations of the Wizarding World did little to appease them. Something could have been done to keep him from being shut out the world he was born. His friends could have worked harder to help protect him while still giving him information he could have used.

Still, their arguments were neither here nor there. For now, they focused on the task at hand; the care of the small boy Dawn carried.

“We understand,” Dawn said soothing, unconsciously letting the drowsy child to grasp her thumb in his hand. “If there is anyway you can find out why this little boy appeared on our doorsteps, we would appreciate it. If the war truly is over, that doesn’t explain how a child obviously connected with magic ended up with us. Not that I’m complaining; he’s been utterly adorable the week that we’ve had him. And…”

Her sentence trailed off as she glanced at Buffy, biting her lower lip in uncertainty for a moment before turning back to Reginald. “And I’ve grown kind of attached to him. Please find out what you can, see if you can find his parents. He’s grown up loved, that’s for sure. His parents might be going crazy with worry.”

The ‘if they are still alive’ was unspoken, though Reginald heard it loud and clear. With how many of the people he knew having met their end during the long, oppressive war, it was possible the boy was yet another victim of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Still, he had to try.

“I’ll send word to Andromeda,” he said, standing up slowly. “In the meantime, I’m sure we can find a place for you at the Inn. It’s slow, this time of year, and the owner is a lovely lady who will quite enjoy your young charge.”

They stood, with Dawn impulsively leaning forward and giving Reginald a loose hug, careful not to disturb the young child she carried. Her smile was genuine as she said, “Thank you. We didn’t know where else to go, not with such a strange situation like this. Magic or not, you are the best friend we have here. I know you’ll be able to help us find the answers we’re looking for.”


	3. Chapter 3

November, 1981  
  
Reginald was right; the owner of the Inn was more than happy to accommodate them once she saw the adorable baby Dawn carried.  Neither of the Summers’ sisters could blame her, really.  With his bright green eyes and huge smile, it was hard to keep from giving the child everything he wanted.  Which he was more than willing to take advantage, even at the young age.  Not that he realized what he was doing, of course, but no one could dream of denying him an extra piece of out of season fruit or the toy he wanted when he looking at them with those gorgeous eyes.  
  
At first, Buffy and Dawn had been a little unsure how to deal with sleeping arrangements for the child.  They’d been able to borrow a portable cot after finding him on the stoop, but it wasn’t a solution that would work long term.  
  
If they even needed to find a long term solution, that is.  
  
For now, the owner of the Inn had found a full cot to give him, that fit easily in the hotel room.  Harry took it to like a duck to water; there wasn’t any need to cajole him to sleep there.  For that, Dawn and Buffy were thankful.  
  
In fact, he seemed to deal with new situations quite well.  A small smile crossed Buffy’s face as she watched Dawn play peekaboo with the child.  It had been quite some time since Dawn had been so happy, not that she would admit it.  As much as Buffy needed and appreciated Dawn traveling with her to find a cure for the immortality, she saw the toll it was beginning to take on her sibling.    
  
The more they traveled, and the less it seemed a cure would be found for Buffy, the more Dawn seemed to wither.  She couldn’t really die herself, being the Key and all, but she would be able to have the freedom to travel where she wished.  To think that her older sister, the person she was made to be protected by, could never have that freedom weighed on her.  Anyone who knew her could see it.  
  
Unfortunately, Buffy was the only one left to really understand it.  Well, there was a chance Willow was still out there somewhere, following the wishes of the PTB as her punishment, but they had no real confirmation of that.  
  
As far as they knew, Buffy was the only one left who really knew Dawn.  
  
And watching the joy her sister got from playing a simple game with the baby was enough for Buffy to come to a decision.  If the letter was true, Buffy would never let anyone take baby Harry away from Dawn.  
  
A slight creak outside their guest room door caught Buffy’s attention, though Dawn paid no heed.  Her attention was fixed solely on her young charge; she knew that Buffy would have alerted her if something was wrong.  The door opened slowly and Buffy smiled fully as Reginald walked into the room.  For someone who claimed he didn’t have any of the abilities of his magical relatives, his ability to quickly assess a scene said otherwise.  Within a moment of him entering, Buffy could tell he had seen the same thing she saw with Dawn and had already focused his attention to Buffy.  
  
She was the one who would deal with the information now.  
  
She still felt a moment of guilt as the letter threated to burn a hole in her pocket.  While she and Dawn did not discuss keeping the contents a secret, neither of them seemed willing to bring it up when they first introduced the baby to Reginald.  While both considered him a dear friend, one who they would protect at any cost, they still needed to look after themselves.  And they really would tell him about the letter.  Honest.  
  
Once they found out a little more from his magical friends.  
  
“I just received this,” he said, indicating the letter in his hand as he slid into the chair opposite her, “From Andromeda.  By owl post.  I think the poor priest thinks I’m half mad, talking to an owl.  At least the owl knew enough to play injured.  That’s Andy for you - with a muggleborn husband, she does understand more than most how to deal with Muggles.  She taught her owl well.”  
  
The concept of ‘owl post’ had been explained to her before, but Buffy still couldn’t get it.  What was wrong with the old fashioned post box!  Even in most dimensions they’d traveled, people still used good old post offices.  It was one of the things that was stable throughout their journey; of course this would be the place to turn that upside down.  
  
“The war?” Buffy asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
“Over,” he said.  A real smile tugged at his lips, a smile Buffy rarely saw on him.  “He Who Must Not Be Named is dead.  The wizarding world is in the midst of quite the celebration, and Andy promised once everything is sorted, she and a few other friends will come to visit.”  
  
He paused, looking down at the table at the last words.  Buffy wanted to jump on the offensive about these so called friends who left him to handle matters on his own these 10 long years, but she refrained.  Giles would be proud of her, really, to see her finally having a sense of restraint.  Well, she thinks he would be proud.  Her memories of him are starting to grow fuzzy after the two centuries since his death, but she’s pretty sure he would be smiling proudly at her for the maturity growth.  
  
And then she’d go and pull a fool stunt to have him wiping his glasses again.  Such was their relationship.  
  
Pushing aside the sudden wave of memories, Buffy prodded Reginald gently, “And the baby…?”  
  
There was a frown at that.  “According to Andy, there aren’t any missing children.  A few families have yet to be accounted for, but there aren’t any missing children that they know.  I wish I could tell you more, but I’m afraid there just doesn’t seem to be an answer to the question.”  
  
It was the apologetic tone that did it.  She knew he felt as if he had let them down, not getting any information about this particular child.  Back in her younger years, she may not have felt so bad about letting him believe he was at fault for the lack of information; the ends justified the means, right?  But now, after centuries of traveling through dimensions and restarting their lives over and over, Buffy had learned a few things.  
  
Being honest with someone who was a true friend, a true ally, was one of them.  
  
Stealing a glance at a still-distracted Dawn, she quickly focused her attention back on Reginald.  “So I know you feel bad about the lack of information, but I’m the one that should be all apology-girl.  Dawn and I weren’t exactly honest with you when we told you about the baby.  I mean, everything about his getting to us was true, but…there was a letter left with him.  Some of it was torn off at the top, so we’re not positive its everything?  But we should have told you about it.”  
  
Buffy paused momentarily in her explanation as she reached into her pocket, her hand closing around the letter.  As she looked up at Reginald, her omission in information-giving made her feel even worse.  While he was a tough person to read in the best of times - she supposed growing up hated could teach someone to hide their feelings - Buffy and Dawn had gotten to know him well enough to see the feelings behind his small reactions.  
  
He was hurt.  
  
Not that she could blame him, really.  While on one hand, they were immortal dimension travelers with information that could be very dangerous if it were to fall into the wrong hands and thus needed to protect themselves as best they could, on the other hand, Reginald had been nothing but helpful to them.  In fact, he had put his own life in danger when he asked his friends to help them create identifies in this world, without giving away their secrets.  They knew they could trust him.  
  
And they hadn’t.  
  
Without another word, Buffy handed the letter over to him.  He stared at it a moment before taking it from her and opening it, the paper crinkling loud enough to catch Dawn’s attention momentarily.  At first, the brunette looked as if she were going to come over to join their conversation, but a firm shake of Buffy’s head was enough to keep her away.  She could give her own explanation later.  For now, he needed to see the rest of their information.  
  
Buffy watched Reginald’s reactions carefully as he read the letter, watching as the hurt on his face changed from shock and finally, incredulity.  Finally, he put the letter down and stared at it before turning his gaze to hers.  
  
“That child is Harry Potter?  The Boy That Lived?” he blurted out.  
  
His questions were met with a blank look.  “The who that what?  I guess that’s Harry Potter - even though the letter only says Harry - but what’s this about him living?  Is that how your world give people nicknames, if they live or die, cause gotta say, that’s a pretty lame way to do it.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dawn chimed in from her eavesdropping of the conversation, “If that’s the case, you’d be the Girl That Died.  Twice.  And Then Lived Some More.”  
  
“Like you’re one to talk.  Does ‘The Immortal Key’ ring any bells?”  
  
“That’s a title, not a nickname,” Dawn retorted.  
  
“Fine.  You’re nickname would be Girl Who Can Travel to Different Dimensions But Can’t Figure Out How To Do It Clothed.”  
  
“That’s not based on whether or not I live or die, Miss Death Becomes Her, Except When It Doesn’t.”  
  
“Yeah, well…”  
  
“Yes, well, as entertaining as this is to observe,” Reginald broke in, pulling the sisters out of their argument.  Both blinked in surprise, having forgotten the initial point of the conversation before they got off track.  “The little boy you found on your doorsteps is considered the savior of the wizarding world.  He’s now famous enough that many witches and wizards wish to see him, though all have been told he is in a safe place, to grow up away from the public eye.”  
  
Both women remained silent as the gravitas of the situation weighed on them, their earlier lighthearted argument a fleeting memory.  This small child, with his curious green eyes and infectious laugh, saved his world.  A world that wanted to see him, greet him, potentially give him everything he ever wanted.  
  
Or take advantage of him, an innocent child who would not understand being manipulated into a political side.  
  
“When you say he’s the savior of the wizarding world…” Buffy began slowly.  Reginald sighed and reached towards the letter he had brought.  Scanning the parchment carefully, he indicated a passage.  Craning her neck, Buffy read it over.  
  
And over.  
  
And over.  
  
For a few moments, Buffy sat silently and stared at the paragraph she had reread.  She could feel Dawn’s curiosity, even as her sister’s attention was half devoted to small Harry.  But the last thing Buffy wanted to do was tell Dawn what the parchment had said.  Granted, they had an idea of what had occurred, since the letter left with the child had told them his mother made the ultimate sacrifice to keep him safe when he was in danger.  But the letter Reginald had received?  The details made her want to hunt down this Voldemort and kill him a second time.  
  
She closed her eyes briefly before opening them and saying softly to Reginald, “He was there when his parents were killed?  In the house?”  
  
He nodded, though uncertainty threaded through him.  “According to public knowledge, all three of the Potters - which includes young Harry - were in the house when they were attached.  Somehow, Harry managed to fend off He Who Will Not Be Named.  Harry survived while the other did not.”  
  
“He has nightmares,” Buffy added suddenly, the non sequitur taking him by surprise.  “He’ll wake up, crying at night.  I think - Dawn and I think - he was there when his mother was killed.  Our letter says that Lily, his mother, sacrificed herself so he could live.  If your world says he defeated Voldemort and ours says Lily sacrificed herself so he could live…I think that means he was there.”  
  
Silence greeted her words as Reginald paled at the implications that the young laughing child, playing peekaboo with Dawn, had witnessed the death of his own mother.  And after that traumatizing event, he had been placed with someone who was supposed to protect him.  
  
“Were you able to find out who left him with you?” he asked.  
  
Buffy snorted.  “I doubt we’ll ever figure that out, unless we talk to the person in your world that handled him last.  And I might just punch whoever that is, for leaving him with the abandoning bastard.  Whoever they are.”  
  
“We can take him back…” Reginald started.  
  
“We’re not letting him go back to your world,” Buffy said firmly, keeping her eyes locked with his.  “Whoever he was left with obviously wanted nothing to do with him.  They left him on a random stoop, uncaring if he was kidnapped, or stolen, or even killed.  Hell, they didn’t even know who we were.  We could have been allies of Voldemort, for all they cared.  Ours was just a convenient place to abandon a child whose parents had been murdered.  We can’t - “  
  
“I’m not letting him go,” Dawn said quietly, interrupting her sister.  Both Buffy and Reginald turned to her as one, startled out of their conversation by her sudden comments.  The small child held Dawn’s hand like a lifeline as she stared at them, her eyes shining with unshed tears.  “Buffy and I have been through a lot - been through a lot of different dimensions, been through a lot of different gods.  We’ve dealt with prophecies and happenstance, interfering gods and plain bad luck.  This feels different.  This isn’t plotted by a random god, but it doesn’t feel like random coincidence, either.”  
  
“I can’t have children of my own.  It’s physically impossible.  Harry…Harry was meant to be here.  It’s the only thing that makes sense, really,” she said, as if daring either of them to argue.  “I don’t have the blood link to protect him, like Lily’s sister did, according to our letter.  But Buffy and I have knowledge that no one in your world does.  We have powers that aren’t limited by mortal beings.  He’s safer in our hands than those of anyone else.”  
  
Reginald stared at Dawn as she spoke, feeling the conviction behind her world.  Part of him - the part that grew up in a pureblood house, full of pureblood thoughts - wanted to argue with her.  What could they know more than a true witch or wizard with power?  But those thoughts were easily vanished as he considered the shortcomings of those purebloods.  As he considered the young child that had defeated Lord Voldemort being raised by an immortal vampire slayer and a Key who could travel dimensions on a whim.    
  
“I think you may be right,” he said slowly, watching as both their faces showed surprise at his easy agreement.  He couldn’t help but smirk a bit.  “Please.  I may be subtly influenced by my learned prejudices, but I have seen the type of power you hold.  Young Harry will be well raised in this environment.”  
  
Dawn blushed at the compliment, though Buffy tilted her head slightly and looked passed the praise to say, “That doesn’t mean there aren’t conditions.”  
  
He acknowledged her thought.  “Only suggestions, if I may be so bold.  Firstly, allow one of my friends to visit, to help set up protections for the child.  He will not have the blood link, as you have said, to protect him, and I have a friend who is quite talented with those type of wards.  Also, I wish you to live here.  In this town.  It is close enough to Hogwarts - our wizarding school - to receive aid if necessary, but far enough away from any other magical being that it would provide safety for all of us.”  
  
The sisters glanced at each other, seemingly speaking silently before turning back to him.  
  
“We can deal with those suggestions,” Buffy said, though there was a slight hesitation in her voice.  “But you have to guarantee your friends won’t turn us over to the magical authorities.  We are raising this baby, until he’s old enough to decide if he wants to join your world.”  
  
“You have my word,” he said solemnly, and both relaxed at the truth behind his words.  At least for now, Harry was theirs to raise.  
  
  
******  
  
January, 1982  
  
Dawn released a sigh of relief as she pulls the last of the mugs out of the moving box and into their place in the cabinets.  She pushed the now-empty box off of the counter and grinned at the satisfying smack of the box onto the ground.  It had taken longer than she had anticipated to get everything organized, but the kitchen was finally done.  Bringing their full unpacking to a full two rooms out of six.  
  
At least the most important rooms, the kitchen and Harry’s room, were the ones finished.  A step in the right direction.  
  
Glancing up at the clock above the stove, she cursed softly under her breath as she noticed the time.  Reginald and Harry would be back soon - thank the gods Reggie had offered to take Harry that afternoon - and she still had to finish getting food ready.  At least Buffy wasn’t here to be all Kitchen General on her.  Without their shop to keep them employed, Buffy spent time traveling the country and finding the many wild herbs, flowers, and spices that were useful in their mail order service.  Coupled with the books they bought and sold in their catalog, it was enough to keep the Summers sisters afloat and able to support themselves.  
  
Still, she longed for the days of the internet.  It would have made their lives so much easier.  
  
She pulled newly purchased pans out of their place in the lower cabinet and placed them on the stovetop, turning the heat on low as she simultaneously placed a small bit of butter into the pans as they warmed.  Neither she nor Buffy would ever be the best chefs in the world, but they were proficient in a number of different meals.  Dawn could easily handle making steak, potatoes, and broccoli as an early supper for all of them.  There were a number of spices she preferred adding to the steak, but without knowing anything about the visitor Reggie promised to bring, she didn’t want to make it inedible for their mystery visitor.    
  
That never boded well when asking for help.  
  
Not that she didn’t trust the wards she and Buffy usually set up as protections.  On the contrary, Dawn was rather proud of the wards.  Her ability to actually wield magic may be paltry, but her protection wards were neigh impossible to break.  She attributed it to being the Key, but Buffy always just rolled her eyes and told her the faux humility was not fooling anyway so it was pointless for Dawn to even try.  
  
The food was on and cooking quickly enough, and Dawn set to work making the kitchen look a tad more homey.  The box she had pushed off the counter was easily folded up and stashed away.  While she trusted Reggie’s judgment when it came to wizards and witches to introduce to them, she still wanted to make a good impression.    
  
First impressions, and all that.  
  
A loud bang from the edge of the property caught her attention, and she immediately tensed as she turned to stare at the wards.  While they could not be seen from the outside, her wards glowed a steady green to those inside of them.  If anything hostile tried to attack them, they would glow a bright red and lash back at the attackee.  If someone was attempting to trick them, they would turn purple and lash back.  
  
They would basically lash back at anything non-trustworthy.  Dawn and Buffy took their safety seriously.  
  
Right now, the wards were turning a soft blue, the color of ‘unknown but probably trustworthy’.  To others, that might seem as shoddy worksmanship behind the ward, but Dawn knew otherwise.  These wards were meant to register intent of the person crossing them, not identify the actual person.  Identification of a person was not as useful to her and Buffy as something that registered actual intent.  She had refined the spells behind the wards over the number of years they had wandered from dimension to dimension and she was very confident the wards would never be fooled or broken.  
  
Their first test with a real witch would give her a great deal of data she could use to refine the spells even further.  
  
The knock on the door was expected, and thus Dawn was already moving out of the kitchen - making sure to close the baby gate - and towards the front door.  It took her no time at all to pass through the small living room.  A bubble of nervousness passed through her, but Dawn ignored it as she pasted a smile on her face and opened the door.  
  
It was as she expected, Reggie looking slightly uncomfortable as he held Harry’s hand.  A woman stood with him, carrying a child who looked younger than Harry, and small enough that she was still more ‘baby’ than ‘toddler’.  Both woman and baby regarded her with smiles and while Dawn prepared to greet with them the niceties expected, all she could say was -   
  
“My sister will die when she sees your hair,” Dawn blurted out before slapping her hand over her mouth as her cheeks turned red with embarrassment.  “Ohmygod, I’m so sorry.  I just…Buffy spent _years_ trying to get her hair to be that shade of blond and could never really achieve it without frying her hair.  Her jealous will know no bounds.”  
  
Reginald gave Dawn a _look_ as he said, acting as if Dawn hadn’t said a word, “Dawn, allow me to introduce you to Pandora Lovegood and her daughter, Luna.  Pandora helped me escape the den of wretchedness that was my family home.”  
  
If it was possible for her to disappear in a wave of embarrassment, Dawn was sure she would have done it.  This one was the few people that had helped Reggie over the years and that was how she greeted her?  With a random comment on her hair?  To make matters worse, Reginald continued, a tiny hint of a smirk on his face as she added, “She’s also one of the witches to put together your identity.  During the height of the war, knowing she was helping a friend in need.”  
  
Yep, utter mortification was now complete.  She could feel her face burning a deep red and tried to cover her embarrassment by reaching for Harry’s hand.  Harry smiled brightly up at her.  “Me up!”  
  
That was enough to break Dawn slightly out of her mortification, enough to take the child out of Reginald’s hand and pick him up, settling him comfortably on her hip.  Turning to Pandora, her face still tinged pink, she said, “Right.  Sorry for the rude blurting out thoughts thing.  Thank you for coming to help us, and for everything you’ve done to help Reggie.  We are deeply grateful for everything.”  
  
Pandora laughed, a soft gentle sound that seemed to have a soothing effect on everyone, Dawn included.  “No need to apologize.  I was thrilled by the invitation to meet you.  I have complete faith we’ll get along beautifully.  My husband and I do have quite the interest in the more peculiar.”  
  
That comment had Dawn raising her eyebrows, though she didn’t respond to it.  “Why don’t we get the kids settled and then get down to business?  I just finished arranging the kitchen, so everything should be childproof.”  
  
“Oh, marvelous,” Pandora said, adjusting the curious Luna in her arms as the baby shifted to get a better glance of the room.  “Luna here is just beginning to toddle around, and is entranced by anything she really should not yet have.”  
  
Dawn laughed as she ushered all of them through the living space and into the kitchen, the rest of her embarrassment washing away.  With some regret, she lowered Harry to the ground and watched with a soft smile as he squealed and headed towards the toy box they had set up in the corner of the room.  She headed towards the stove, making sure to close the baby gate set between the kitchen peninsula and wall, to keep the two children away from the cooking food.  “Yeah, Harry insists on having everything we don’t want him to have.  We’ve dealt with typical kids before and thought we had the hang of it, but the whole magical aspect has a bit of a learning curve.  It took Buffy’s quick reflexes to grab a few things he used magic to get.”  
  
Even Reggie cracked a smile at that, even as uncomfortable with the talk of magic as he was.  He and Pandora slowly sat down at the table, Pandora taking a moment to lower Luna to the ground and watched in amusement as Harry brought a toy to her before heading back to the toy box to grab another toy.    
And another.    
  
And another.  
  
In just a few minutes, half of the toys from the box had piled up near the baby Luna, as Harry kept bringing new ones to share.  
  
“Well, he does seem to be quite taken with Luna,” Reggie said in amusement as Luna slowly reached for one of the toys and quietly studied it, not noticing as Harry babbled and brought more for her to play with.  “He’s been like that all day, determined to give her everything he has.”  
  
“He does that with every little kid he meets,” Dawn admitted, taking the top off one of the pans and testing the firmness of the vegetables with a fork.  Needed a few more minutes.  “He is entirely too friendly for his own good sometimes.  Do either of you want something to drink?  Tea?  Coffee?”  
  
“I fancy a good cuppa,” Reggie said, Pandora nodding in agreement.  Dawn nodded and grabbed the tea kettle and filled it with water, then put it on an empty burner to heat up.  A comfortable silence fell between the adults of the room, the only sounds that of the food and tea heating up and the children - mostly Harry - babbling. Dawn took advantage of the silence to focus her attention on the food, not wanting to overcook or burn anything with the guest.  She was still a little wary about her visitor, though the woman’s aura brought a sense of peace to the room, something that reminded her wistfully of Tara.  
  
God, Tara.  
  
She missed her.  Even though the time she had with Tara was so fleeting compared to her lifespan, something about the quiet witch had left a lasting impression on her soul.  The gentleness, the honest love and affection that required nothing in return, was a rare gift that Dawn still cherished to this day.  Dawn knew that Buffy’s memory of the woman had started to fade, but it seemed her memory was still intact.  Maybe that was the Key part of her, giving her a memory that didn’t fade, that didn’t diminish as time passed.  In this instance, Dawn appreciated that part of her with no regrets.  
  
The whistling of the kettle broke her from her thoughts.  Turning off all the burners - the food was definitely finished by now - Dawn grabbed a teapot from the cabinet and poured the hot water in the teapot.  Once that was filled, she added an infuser of her and Reggie’s favorite tea, on an impulse that Pandora would enjoy it as well.  She easily doled out food between three plates, leaving a surplus of food for whenever Buffy got home.  The plates were placed on the peninsula, well away from the edge.  
  
She had learned her lesson the last time she left a plate of food on the edge.  
  
“You didn’t have to go to all this work,” Pandora said as Reggie stood and picked up the plates, placing all three on the table.  Dawn just shrugged as she cut up a banana and placed the pieces on another plate.  
  
“Eh, it’s no big,” she said as she opened the gate, carrying the plate with her as she locked the gate behind her.  “Buffy will want to eat when she gets home, so I figured I’d just add a little extra for you and Reggie.”  
  
“It was thoughtful of you.  Thank you,” Pandora said as she took a bite of the food, one eye on Luna as she ate.  
  
Dawn just shrugged in thanks, uncomfortable with the comment.  Reggie sighed at her lack of response, but said nothing.  They ate in silence, though it was not the comfortable silence that had filled the room earlier.  There was a tenseness, one that Dawn knew was partially caused by her.  But the woman seemed too polite, too nice for someone in the magical world Reggie had told her about.  She knew how many of those in the wizarding world had abandoned him, let him muddle along without any help.  
  
“Your wards are most impressive,” Pandora said, breaking the silence.  If she had noticed the uncomfortable tension in the room, Dawn couldn’t find any indication.  “The War gave many of us witches and wizards a keen sense of wards, but yours are the best I’ve ever seen.  I doubt I could have gotten through them if I meant to do any harm.”  
  
The compliment was not what Dawn expected.  “Thanks?  I think?”  
  
She felt before she saw Reggie roll his eyes.  Ignoring him, she said, “Look.  This may come off as a little rough, but Buffy and I are fans of brute honesty when it works.  We don’t think highly of the wizarding world.  We don’t like how they treated Reggie for something behind his control.  While I like you and Luna, I’m not going to sit here and pretend to be BFFs.  It sounds like you’re being pretty real with your compliments, so I’ll accept them as they are given.  But if you aren’t here to help us and Reggie keep Harry protected, then I’m not interested in getting to know you.”  
  
It was blunt, Dawn knew, and she could see Reggie’s jaw drop as he did his best impression of a fish.  But she ignored his reaction and instead focused on Pandora, looking for any sign that this was all a trick, a ploy, to get into her good graces, before stealing away in the night with Harry.  
  
“Philius - my husband - and I have always thought of Reginald as one of our dear friends,” Pandora said, not even blinking at the bluntness of Dawn’s words.  “We helped him as much as we could during the height of the War, when he needed to escape from those who wished harm upon him.  As we did have to shied away from him as things grew worse, in order to protect him, the least we could do now is help him keep Harry protected.  If he trusts you to keep the child safe, then we trust you.  It is as simple as that.”  
  
The speech was not what Dawn expected, and she found herself speechless by the woman’s quiet words.  Perhaps their dark thoughts for Reggie’s wizarding friends were unwarranted.  Perhaps they were too rash when they judged their world without letting any of them explain their rationale.  
  
“And keeping the knowledge that Harry is with my sister and I, not with whoever brazenly abandoned him?” she asked, needing the answer to that last question.  
  
“Until you decide to reveal it, my husband and I will keep the knowledge to ourselves,” Pandora said quietly, though her lips quirked into a bit of a smile as she added, “Though I would be remiss if I didn’t ask for a small favor.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“My husband runs a newspaper centering on more outlandish items than are typically printed in the normal newspaper.  Reginald here was hinted you and your sister have some experience in that.”  
  
Dawn did laugh at that, the tension easing out of her.  “Oh, weirdness is definitely something we can help with.  That is so right up our alley.”


	4. Chapter 4

July, 1982  
  
“And this is it,” Pandora said, a slight smirk teasing her lips as she gestured casually to a location across the street. Buffy followed the movement of her hand, eyes narrowing slightly as her gaze seemed to automatically move away from the place the other woman had pointed out. Again she attempted to look and once again, her gaze seemed to avert the location without her permission.  
  
Not bothering to look over at Pandora, knowing the woman was amused by her vain attempts to focus on the location, Buffy forced herself to focus, using the Slayer and her knowledge of magic as a guide. She closed her eyes momentarily, taking a breath to center her energies, before opening them again and forcing her gaze on the area Pandora had gestured. This time, she could feel the magic actively pushing against her, trying to force her not see the..well…okay, it kind of looked like a bit of a dive.  
  
“You brought me all this way to see a dingy pub?” Buffy asked, looking sideways at her friend. “Gotta say, I’m less than impressed.”  
  
Pandora laughed as she gently took Buffy’s arm and led her across the street and into the pub. The place seemed somewhat as she expected - dark, a little run down, stains on the tables and bar from assorted drinks. Yet, a tingling feeling grew in her neck as she felt the magic in the room, almost pressing in on her with its intensity. Her sensitivity to magic, while admittedly never really good, was definitely picking up the magic in this place. And maybe Pandora wasn’t just putting one over her, bringing her to this random pub.  
  
Pandora, on the other hand, did not seem phased by the magic. Which, duh, she wouldn’t be, considering she was a witch and used to the feeling and all. Instead, her guide was smiling and waving to a few people here and there, taking a moment to send her best wishes to Tom. Buffy, shaking off the feeling of magic, didn’t quite pick up who Tom was, but figured if it was important, Pandora would mention it. When she came again, she would pick up on the specifics. For now, she had a mission and come hell or high water, she would find a way to accomplish it.  
  
She found herself being whisked out of the pub and into the alley behind it, where she turned and glared at the witch. “Okay, so what’s the what. This looks like a boring old alley, but there was obviously a ton of magic going on in that pub, and something about this alley is making the spider sense start to tingle.”  
  
“Since I have no idea what half of what that statement means, I can happily ignore it and instead,” Pandora said, pulling her wand out of her robes, “Show you the reason you’re here. You wanted to see our, how did you put it? Mall. I believe this will fit your requirements.”  
  
Before Buffy could say a word, Pandora tapped a brick on the wall. Buffy started when the bricks started to move, rearranging to form a giant archway for them to pass through. While she didn’t want to say it out loud, the Slayer had to admit she was a little impressed. The Wizarding World did seem to have a sense of style after all, it seemed. That definitely gave it some positive points. For a moment she was overwhelmed by the feeling of otherness she felt as she took the first steps through the archway. True, she had seen more than her fair share of wonderous places during her travels, but the utter magic of this place took her breath away. Maybe it was because it was so hidden, more hidden than any place she had visited. More hidden than even her world in Sunnydale had been, as fuzzy as the memories were starting to become.  Or maybe it was because everything in London had been so utterly normal and ordinary, that just a brush of the magic from this area was enough to startle her out of her comfort zone.  
  
Whatever the reason, Buffy brushed it off as she followed Pandora. The cobblestones beneath her feet were utterly quaint, making her feel as if she’d stepped back in time to a more ancient world. The lack of any technology seemed to play to that thought. No electric open signs, no televisions or radios in the windows of stores. Instead, she could see flickers of candlelight in the buildings she craned her neck to glance inside, signs that looked to be made of ordinary paper - or something similiar, now that looked closer - but seemed to glow or blink to catch the eye.  
  
Magic, obviously. The whole place was just crawling with it. In spite of herself, Buffy was impressed. She was starting to understand Reggie’s fear of this world. If good magic could be strong enough to keep this whole world secret, how strong were the dark arts he worried so about?  
  
She suddenly felt utterly unprepared for the future she knew awaited her, Dawn, and Harry.  
  
Following Pandora, she noticed that most people coming in and out of the shops wore the robes her friend did, though there were some wearing ordinary clothes, similar to her. Well, kind of similar. Hers were definitely more fashionable. “I thought everyone would be wearing the whole robe thing.”  
  
Pandora laughed, smiling. “Well, all of the witches and wizard are wearing them. Hogwarts letters went out recently, and I believe most of the people in clothes like yours are Muggles with magical children. A larger batch than usual, this year, since a good number refused to attend the school during the war.”  
  
Buffy turned to Pandora at that, opening her mouth to ask more, but changed her mind.  There would be a time and place for more questions.  Since they were in the thick of Pandora’s world?  Definitely not the place to ask questions.  The last thing she wanted to do was to draw attention to herself.  Well, more attention than she was already drawing.  Instead, she asked, “I’m pretty sure I heard you telling Dawnie about a bookstore.  With books.  Is that anywhere nearby?”  
  
“A bookstore with books.  A novel concept,” Pandora said cheekily, her path taking her in front of a store Buffy hadn’t noticed earlier.  
  
“Even I would never use that pun.  And that’s saying something,” Buffy responded, gazing at the store in front of her, Flourish and Blotts.  A large window displayed a book called ‘Hogwarts: A History’ and ‘All There Is to Know About the Defeat of You Know Who’.  The second one had her sending a baleful look at Pandora, who just shrugged as she continued her walk into the store.  
  
“Everything almost went all to pot, so now some feel the need to overcompensate with supposed knowledge,” she explained.  “Philius just goes into fits with writers like that.”  
  
“Can’t imagine why,” Buffy muttered as she followed the other blond into the store.  Almost immediately, she felt the urge to retreat, as she could swear the towers of books in the store were ready to come down any minute.  Most likely on her head.  Other books were stuffed into bookcases,  placed any which way they fit, some upright in the shelves, some stacked flat on each other.  A quick glance at the bookcases showed no indication of their order, or their subject, or anything else to figure out their categorization.    
  
Needless to say, she was immediately overwhelmed.  “I knew I should have convinced Dawn to come instead; books are her battleground.”  
  
Pandora turned around, stifling a laugh at the wide eyed stare Buffy was giving the store.  She took a few steps back towards her and nudged her slightly forward.  “Don’t worry.  They don’t bite.”  
  
“Well, most of them don’t,” she amended after a moment’s pause.  At Buffy’s inquisitive look, she just shook her head.  “Never mind.”  
  
“If you say so,” Buffy said doubtfully.  
  
“Now,” Pandora said, glancing around at all of the books, all of the knowledge, with a dreamy sigh.  “This may take some time, what with the task you and your sister assigned.  Give me a few to put together some of the light reference books you’ll both need.  Feel free to wander.”  
  
“And be eaten by books?” Buffy said.  “I’ll just stay here, thanks.”  
  
Pandora shrugged.  “Suit yourself.”  
  
With that, she whisked away.  Buffy watched, awed, as the witch flitted from this shelf to that, seemingly in a logical pattern.  One at a time, sometimes two, Pandora stacked books in her arms.  Every now and then she would pause in her quest, frown, and tilt her head from one side to another, as if internally weighing the need for a book.  When her arms became too full, she would wander back over to Buffy and pass her the books, her gaze barely glancing at the other woman as she already started moving towards a particular bookshelf.  
  
A sudden wistfulness overtook Buffy as she watched the obvious joy the books lent to the other woman, bringing back a fond memory of Giles.  His features weren’t as sharp in her memory as they once were, but she distinctly remembered his deep love of books, the care he would take with each of them, his frustration at her inability to give them what he deemed the proper respect.  
  
_He would have loved it here,_ she thought, a small, sad smile on her face.  _He would have fit right into this world._  
  
Shaking off the bout of nostalgia, she looked around the ever growing stacks of books surrounding her, raising an eyebrow as Pandora came back with just three more books.  “While I could try paying for these with my looks, I’m pretty sure money is usually needed.”  
  
“I went to Gringotts yesterday and converted the currency you gave me,” Pandora explained, handing the books in her arms to Buffy and slowly stacking more into the Slayer’s arms.  “It’s easier, for now.”  
  
Once again, Buffy narrowed her eyes as questions came to her lips, but she pressed them together, not sure she wanted an explanation of that right now.  One thing at a time.  Like, for example, buying all these books and someone maneuvering them back to their house.  Sure, Slayer strength and all, but that was pretty much the opposite of nondescript and would probably get them a number of questions Buffy would rather avoid.  For now, she accepted the growing stack in her arms.  Once Pandora was satisfied with the stack, she started stacking the remaining books in a pile.  Even a cursory look was enough for Buffy to decide there was no way the witch would be able to carry them all.  She was less than surprised when Pandora took out her wand and waved it once, the pile of books floating towards her.  
  
“That’s cheating,” Buffy protested.  
  
“I rather think of it as using my strengths to my advantage,” Pandora replied over her shoulder as she headed to the register, leaving Buffy with no option but to follow.  
  
“Also, cheating.”  
  
The woman just favored her with a grin as they waited in a small queue, her books floating gently next to her.  She was the picture of serene as she waited for their turn.  Buffy fumed slightly at the ease of the other woman, making sure to balance her own books at just the right angle to keep the top one from falling off.  
  
Pandora was in SUCH trouble for this.  
  
When they finally reached the register to pay, Buffy watched avidly as Pandora pulled honest-to-goodness gold coins out of her small satchel to pay.  She couldn’t figure out the cost, but had a feeling they had just spent their weight in gold.  
  
Dawn would be thrilled.  Unlike her older sister, she adored books.  Needless to say, Giles had appreciated having a Summers who treated books right.  
  
Preparing the books for transport was another lesson in how this world worked, one that was getting more complex with every bit of interaction she had with it.  It took all kinds of effort to keep her features neutral as she watched Pandora and the shopkeeper shrink most of the books - seriously, they were the teeniest, tiniest, cutest books Buffy had ever seen - and put them into aforementioned satchel.  The few books that weren’t shrunk for reasons, apparently, were put into a nice handled bag and presented to Buffy as if they were some great gift.  The shopkeeper was most enthusiastic as she wished them well, cementing Buffy’s belief that they had spent a great deal of money indeed.  
  
“These are just the ones I believe you’ll need right at this moment,” Pandora explained as she led Buffy out of the store and back into the crowded street.  “It’ll be best if you peruse the second-hand book store for other books.  Those tend to be a tad worn or have missing pages, so I thought it was best to purchase new copies for the reference books.”  
  
“I’m sure Dawn will appreciate it,” Buffy said breezily as she followed her.  “She’ll read them all obsessively, three times at least, then narrow down the information I need.  That will be put onto notecards, so if I stumble on something I utterly ignored during her explanations, it’ll be there.”  
  
Pandora stopped short suddenly, turning to give her a slightly suspicious look.  “How do you…never mind.”  
  
About to ask the witch what her question was, Buffy got a full glance at the shop in front of them and smiled.  “You are a goddess among mortals.  All should bow down to your greatness.”  
  
“It’s just ice cream,” Pandora said in amusement as she opened the door for her.  
  
“No such thing,” Buffy argued as she stepped into Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour.  “Ice cream is the nectar of the gods. Look it up.  In one of the ten thousand books we bought.  There has to be something about it there.”    


********

  
  
September, 1982  
  
Petunia Dursley allowed herself a sigh of contentment as she eased into her glider. Dudley was finally asleep for the night - her darling had pitched quite the fit when she tried to take him from his favorite program on the telly - and Vernon was asleep, in bed before even their young son. He was a hard working man, after all, and needed to make sure he got a good night sleep to be prepared for the next day. Not all young mothers could brag of such a hardworking bloke taking care of the family, and Petunia made sure everyone she talked to knew of the sacrifices her husband made.  
  
The sacrifices good, normal folks made for their family. That’s what she always said.  
  
She paused in her rocking, her tea cup touching her lips as the unwanted thoughts of the unnatural came to her suddenly. If only she could talk to her sister about her husband, brag about his skills a father, a breadwinner, a -  
  
Her hands clenched around the tea cup at the unexpected desire to talk with her sister. Lily. The one that had _abandoned_ her to be part of that awful world, with their terrible spells and secrets, horrific secret wars…how _dare_ she choose that over the merits of living an ordinary life, as normal people do.    
  
Forcing her hands to relax, she took a deep breath, followed immediately by a sip of her tea.  She pushed the thought of her sister out of her mind; after all, it was best not to allow herself to focus on the negativity of her family.  Vernon had told her so on many an occasion.  Best to center her thoughts on her loving husband, her delight of a child…  
  
She jumped as she heard a rap on the front door.  
  
The unexpectedness of the knock gave her pause, wondering if she had momentarily lapsed to sleep, because who in the world could be coming to call at this time at night?  It was entirely improper after all, and none of their social acquaintances would be so bold as to show up this long after dark.  Surely she had just imagined…  
  
The knock sounded again, this time louder, more insistent.  
  
Petunia placed her cup down sharply, tea spilling over the edges and onto the table below.  On an ordinary day, she would be gasping and pulling out a cloth to wipe up the spill, to keep it from staining her nice table, keep things in order as they should be.  But as she rushed towards the door, not wanting her husband or her son to be awoken, a part of her knew it was no longer an ordinary day.    
  
With a wretch, she pulled the door open and found herself face to face with a rather older gentlemen, his bright blue eyes obscured only by the half-moon spectacles he wore.  His long hair and beard were both astonishingly white, but that wasn’t what had her gasping in shock.  
  
No, it was the dark robes he wore, robes she knew were only worn by wizards.  
  
Gaping for a moment, her fury began to rise.  This _wizard_ dared to show his face at her home, at her place away from the abnormal freaks that stole her sister away, _dared_ to knock at her door at this late hour, _dared_ to show up just when she had been contemplating her life away from her stolen sister.  Opening her mouth, ready to tell him off, she was interrupted as he said in a mild tone, “Petunia.  You wrote me many years ago.  I am Albus Dumbledore.”  
  
Albus Dumbledore.  
  
The name was enough to rob her of her breath, deflate the rising indignation.    
  
There were few people in the wizarding world that could interrupt her self-righteous fury, distract her from her hatred of the unnatural world.  But Albus Dumbledore was one.  
  
“If you would allow me to come in,” he said, his tone still mild, “There are many things I wish to discuss with you.”  
  
Part of her, the child part of her that had been rejected from her sister’s world _by this very man_ , wanted to slam the door in his face and pretend no one had knocked on her door at a late hour, pretend that he did not exist.  In fact, she almost did so.  But another part of her, the part that desperately missed her sister, the part that was already beginning to worry why he would take the time to visit someone without any magic, knew this meeting was important.  
  
Knew that she would never see her sister again.  
  
Instead of replying, she shuffled stiffly aside, allowing him access into her house.  If he was put off by her rudeness, he made no indication.  He nodded politely as he stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him.  They stood in the foyer of the house for a moment, a moment that grew in awkwardness the longer it lasted.  Steeling herself, Petunia gestured him towards the sitting room, where her cooling tea was slowly seeping into the wooden table.  
  
“Please sit,” her voice as stiff as her movements, she slowly lowered herself back into her glider, her eyes never leaving him as he sat the large love seat.  “I don’t know why you have disturbed my household so late in the evening, but I wish you would explain yourself quickly and then leave.  My husband does not appreciated uninvited visitors.”  
  
His blue eyes studied her carefully, and she found herself averted her gaze from his, fidgeting with the slightly worn arm of the glider.  There was something about that gaze, something unnerving, as if he could see her very thoughts and fears, her insecurities and anger.  She wanted nothing more than for him to take his gaze and leave her house.  Quickly, if possible.  
  
“I assume you read the note I left you, almost a year ago.”  
  
Petunia unconsciously brought her gaze up, startled at the statement.  Note?  Albus Dumbledore leaving her a note?  “Preposterous.  What reasons could you possibly have to leave me a note?  Though I don’t believe in the existence of such a thing, as I never received it.  Perhaps you didn’t put enough stamps on the envelope.  Or your mangy owls lost it before it could arrive.  Yes, that sounds like the most logical explanation.  Trusting animals to deliver post, after all, is quite unnatural.”  
  
“I did not send my note by Owl Post, which is rather reliable,” he said, his tone still calm, seeming to grow calmer with her increasing temper.  “I left it the note on your doorstep, in a basket.”  
  
The statement left her badly confused, giving more fire to her ever increasing temper.  The straightened up in her glider, her hands clenching tightly against the arms of the furniture, as she snapped, “You did no such thing.  I would have seen it right away, and no such thing was ever placed on the doorstep.”  
  
“I see,” was his response.  The ticking of the clock was all that was heard as seconds of silence stretched into minutes, Petunia simmering with the beginnings of fury, Albus Dumbledore just sitting thoughtfully across from her.  She was about to explode when he asked, almost as a non sequitor, “When was the last you heard from Lily?”  
  
“You dare to…”  
  
She trailed off in fury, red spots appearing on her cheeks as she forced herself to keep her voice down, not yell and wake up her husband and child.  Not only was he bringing his magic, his unnaturalness, into her house, he dared to mention a sister that she wanted nothing to do with.  At least, those were the lies she told herself.  After all, wasn’t it just earlier in the evening that Petunia had longed to tell her sister about her wonderful life?  But such matters were best pushed away, hidden deep under her indignant fury.  
  
“In the letter I left for you,” Albus said, his tone turning somber, a note of sadness touched into it, “I wrote telling you of the tragic events that had befallen your sister and her husband.  I’m afraid, Petunia, that Lily has died, along with her husband.”  
  
The rising fury dissipated at those words, and Petunia sank back into her glider, a hand unconsciously going up to her throat.  Her sister - her unnatural, loud, weird, vibrant sister - was dead?  “No.  She can’t…”  
  
“There was a war in our world, a dangerous wizard named Lord Voldemort gaining enough followers to try to force his will on all other wizards and witches,” he explained.  “Lily and James were part of those of us who fought against those partaking in the dark arts.  They were killed by him.  His attempt to kill their young son backfired and for now, he has been defeated.”  
  
“Their young son, Harry, lived.  And when I left my note, I left it in a basket with young Harry.  But now I see you never received that note, never found little Harry on your doorstep.”  
  
For the first time that evening, Petunia found herself unable to process what he was saying, what he was suggesting.  The news of her sister’s death was overwhelming, and she could not fathom even beginning to process that fact.  In fact, she refused to process that, and instead forced haughtiness to herself as she sniffed, “Well.  Leaving a child on a doorstep is really rather irresponsible if you ask me.  I bet you will find some unsavory person stole away with him, the note as well.  That’s what happens when things happen unnaturally.”  
  
Petunia watched in fascination as the gentle aura around the wizard across from her went cold, his eyes losing their warmth as he drew himself up.   She couldn’t help but shied away from him, her arms going around herself as it to ward off a chill that suddenly filled the room.  “A spell I placed on the doorstep would keep anyone from noticing him, and I would have been notified right away if someone from outside of this house tampered with the child.  I think perhaps, madam, you should talk to your husband, to see if he found the basket with Harry.”  
  
“Are you suggesting…” she started, only to be cut off by a sharp look from Albus.  
  
“I thank you for your time tonight,” he said as he stood, ignoring her words.  “I will return in a few weeks to discuss matters.  For now, I will be on the search for the whereabouts of a missing child.  Any help you can offer would be much appreciated.”  
  
Without waiting for a response, he nodded once at her and walked out of the room, passing into the foyer.  As he opened the front door, he paused and turned back.  “Lily always hoped to reconcile with you, hoped to meet your son.  For Harry to meet his cousin.  One of those wishes can no longer happen.  Perhaps one still might.”    
  
He did not wait for a response; instead he walked out and closed the door behind him.  She flinched as she heard a muffled ‘bang’ from outside the door.  She stared vacantly at the love seat he had just vacated.  Her sister was dead.  Never again would she have the chance to see Lily again, hear her voice tell her the merits of magic, hear her laughter that could fill a room with joy.  With her sister’s death, so the last link of her family was gone.  
  
Except.  
  
Lily’s child still lived.  A child that had been left on her doorstep for her to find.  Yet, she had not found said child.  Instead - if Albus Dumbledore was correct, if he was honest - the child had been found.  By her wonderful, loving husband.  The husband that hated magic as much as she did.  
  
Petunia sat in her glider, the spilled tea growing ever colder, as the minutes ticked by.  The evening passed into morning and she was no closer to figuring out what to do than the minutes Albus Dumbledore suggested her dear husband had something to do with her nephew’s disappearance.


End file.
